


On the Attaining of ‘More’ (and on working out what the ‘more’ is…)

by SuperSoxforFox



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: And Possibly a Slap, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jamie Needs a Hug, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-16 23:37:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11839407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperSoxforFox/pseuds/SuperSoxforFox
Summary: It's not that he doesn't like the situation as it is, it's just that he's decided there might, possibly, be more to life. And he's distantly aware he might be acting like a bit of a twat too.





	1. Chapter 1

 

On Monday Jamie was sick with nerves, irritated at himself for being such a pony nancy twat as to get nervous in the first place, and fucking terrified that it mattered at all.  

And it did fucking matter. That was the conclusion he'd spent months, first ignoring, then trying to talk himself out of, and then finally admitting that for the sake of his own sanity, (not to mention the amount he was drinking to cope with it - and he swore, _swore_ he’d not end up like the old man), he had to both come to terms with it and then _do_ something about it. One way or another.

‘It’ was admitting that, as nice as it was to spend 90% of your time with someone so fucking brilliant at what they both loved, and however nice it was to be the go-to-guy of the top fucking dog (because he was good at his job, dammit), and as much as he liked being trusted, being actual friends (with all the shouting at the telly - football, newsnight - eating together - curry, Malc’s cooking - listening to music - punk rock, obligatory Jolson - that that entailed), _and_ as nice as sharing a friendly hand job, either as a copying mechanism in a 48 hour shit-has-hit-the-fan marathon, or the very very occasional blowjob (okay twice), as great as all that was (and it was often so fucking spectacular that he couldn't believe he was contemplating fucking it up), he wanted more.

 

His first inkling that he wanted more had come when he found himself obsessing over the little peck of a kiss that Malcolm always bestowed after these encounters. They'd never kissed at all, properly, it wouldn't be in keeping with the whole friends-with-benefits thing or whatever they had going, Jamie supposed. But Malcolm always gave him a quick, closed lip peck after, sometimes against his temple, or agains his shoulder or something, the hinge of his jaw. And Jamie found himself fixating on them. Would he get one every time? Where would he get one? The feel of Malcolm’s lips, the press of his face so close. At first Jamie had thought they were funny, though he'd known Malcolm well enough not to question it or bring it up, but he slowly found them invading his thoughts at odd times.  

He was well used to obsessing over details of Malcolm; his hard to achieve genuine laugh when Jamie’d done something clever at work, his hands, his brilliant Machiavellian mind, being on the inside of his jokes and scorn as he effortlessly worked a room. 

 

So Jamie had grudgingly admitted that he wanted more (terrifying), or just that he couldn't cope with the situation as it was. (And he wasn't coping, really, and Malcolm was starting to notice. He was drinking more, staying out more, he was louder at work, not in a useful terrify the enemy way, just hyperactive, and Malcolm was shooting him strange looks). If he wasn't careful he was going to _fuck it all up_ before he’d even had a chance to do anything about it. About the _more._ Before he'd even decided what it was that he was going _to do_. 

It had, he'd concluded, boiled down to talking. Which was really fucking annoying. He contemplated just grabbing Malcolm and kissing him properly, but he was worried that that didn't really _explain_ , and that Malc would just think he wanted to add a kiss to what they were doing anyway.  He didn't think he had it in him to confront the issue twice if it did go wrong, and Malcolm might just haul off and punch him, which would be considerably easier to avoid if he wasn't trying to kiss Malcolm at the time.  

 

The next problem presenting - when. It was not totally possible to predict what exactly would happen with their jobs, what crisis would need managing next, but there were schedules and pre-planned events. 

He decided to do it two weeks before summer recess. That way he figured he'd have two weeks of work to talk Malc round where he couldn't totally avoid him, and if it went horribly and he fucked everything up, then he’d only have to endure the wreckage for a bit before he could slink off for a few weeks and lick his wounds. He didn't entertain the possibility that it might go well. It made him feel sick with hope, week and desperate that he knew, he fucking _knew_ , he’d gotten himself in too deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have it all written. The next two chapters just need editing and the last one typing up. Just so you know this won't be one of those abandony type things...


	2. Chapter 2

The plan had been to do it Monday. They'd solved the latest fuck ups by late on Saturday. He'd actually managed Sunday off - done some errands and chores like a fucking grown up (mostly to keep his hands occupied and himself from freaking out too badly. It hadn't really worked). Considering Mondays were sometimes quiet(er), he’d planned to get lunch, lock the door, and just _do_ it. 

 

There wasn't a crisis. He got lunch, he and Malc had a whole half hour to themselves in his office. He got all Malcolm’s favourites (like a completely soft cunt), satsumas, black coffee, skinny muffin and all.

 

‘What’s all this then? Malcolm asked.

 

Jamie opened his mouth to answer - say it, _do_ it. He shrugged and busied himself with his sandwich.

 

‘Very fuckin’ nice, treating the boss right, yea? Too fuckin’ right’ Malcolm threw himself back in his chair. ‘You see that Tory cunt on HIGNFY?’ He inhaled coffee. ‘What a pasty cutting excuse for a bell end’

 

Jamie coughed and found his mouth working without him having anything really to do with it. His voice sounded weird to him, no maybe his ears _felt_ weird. ‘Yeah right, really lowered the whole fuckin’ tone, what with trying to insert his tongue up Ian Hislop's arse’

 

Malcolm snorted with laughter, ‘I’m trying to fuckin’ eat here!’ He was still smirking though, ‘clueless wanker, how stupid can they be?’

 

‘Do you seriously need me to answer that?’ Jamie grinned, ‘’cos I've been keeping fuckin’ notes, I could give you a presentation son, on just how fucking stupid, I’d have a fuckin’ power point, be ma fuckin’ pleasure!’

 

It had gone on to be one of the best lunches they'd shared in ages, mostly, Jamie figured, because he was being normal, (for a given definition of normal), and he could tell, because he knew him so well, that Malcolm was relieved.

 

Jamie didn’t, however, do it later that day either. Or Tuesday. Just as he was berating himself on Wednesday morning, which was particularly unpleasant with the spectacular hangover he'd managed to give himself, all hell broke loose and it was full tilt for most of the day; phones, shouting, running from departments to parliament to number 10 and back. So he didn't do it then either, did he. He was pathetic, he decided, as he trudged home. He was just using this as an excuse again, he didn't deserve to be happy, happy was for winners and he was a fucking moron. 

 

He was not, all told, in a very good mood, so he drank Wednesday night as well and showed up to the office looking rougher and rougher on Thursday and Friday, fluctuating wildly between sullen silences and a hyperactive mania that was starting to frighten him as well as everyone else, by the look of it. At half ten Malcolm yelled at him to ‘get a fucking grip, you tiny wee psycho, get out of my sight and do you fuckin’ JOB!’ And had sent him off to DOSAC to bang heads for a bit.

 

He was just getting back when Sam told him the boss wanted him in his office, so he slunk through to the inner sanctum, feeling grumbly and resentful at the world.

 

‘Malc? Boss? You fuckin’ need me for somethin’?’

 

He saw Malcolm standing behind his desk, leaning on both fists, he shifted to point one hand in Jamie’s direction, jabbing angrily.

 

‘Shut the door and fuckin’ listen ta me.’ Malcolm's jaw was ticking where he held it so tensely, Jamie slouched in front of him outwardly looking defiant, he was fairly sure, however, that he'd forgotten how, exactly, he was supposed to breath. Malcolm was getting louder.

 

‘Don’t fuckin’ talk, eh? I'm talking now, son, so just shut up then piss off. I don't know what the fuck is going on with you and your tiny _tiny_ hamster brain. I've tried to…fuck knows I've tried to work it out but you have got to sort yourself out! Your fuckin’ up ma carefully constructed band of killers! And messing with the harmony of ma fuckin’ day! So dry yourself out, stop fuckin’ PMSing, or I will, I swear, dump you in fisheries and leave you there to _rot_.’

 

A flicker of uncertainty ran across Malcom’s face so fast Jamie though he must have imagined it. ‘Jamie, what the fucks going on? I've been trying to….maybe I should just have fuckin’ ask-…Fuck, and now you’re making me talk about it like a right jessie. Is it something I’ve…No, fuck off, I’m not having this conversation’. Malcolm rubbed at his jaw distractedly. ‘I'm not doin’ this any more! I’m just…look…’. Jamie felt his breathing hitch to a start again as he sucked in a panicky furious breath. Malcolm’s phone started ringing, ‘oh just piss off, yeah? Stop fucking looking at me.’ Jamie practically fled. He wanted to put his fist through the wall so much his hands shook. 

 

He forced himself to his desk, he felt like his vision had grayed out at the edges from anger and fear. _Fuck, get on with something, actually do some fucking work, be fucking useful._

 

Oh god, he'd fucked it, he'd really fucked it. ‘I’m not doing this any more’ Malc had said. Jamie had pissed all over his chance, forget _more,_ he'd wrecked _now._ Fuck Malcolm for making Jamie feel like this, for making him care. His heart battered erratically against his ribs. Fuck the clever, horrible, beautiful bastard, he thought sickly.  _And fuck me for endlessly pissing all over my own life, you stupid, stupid, cowardly, drunken, useless cunt!_

 

He’e fucked up the friendship all right, can't be unreliable, a liability, that’s almost as bad as being untrustworthy, he thought sickly. He won't fire me, not if I actually stop moping, he was fucking good at what he did _usually._ No, that would require actual betrayal, not just inducing anger, frustration and confusion. Could he really bear to stay though? If he really had just fucked it all up and it was back to colleagues. ‘I’m not doing this any more’. Fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

Jamie worked hard the rest of Friday. He tried to act normal, he was fairly sure he was also the last one in. He'd gotten a lot done, and quite a bit of other peoples work too, by way of sort of apologising, all with a kind of static buzzing in his brain he couldn't shake. He hadn't seen Malcolm at all, after; he was away at the home office, then with the PM, then coaching the new bint in Health for an appearance on newsnight. 

 

He clicked his laptop shut, spitting the pen lid (badly chewed) out of his mouth. His desk was a lone pool of light in the dark office. Fuck, he was tired, now that he'd stoped. He felt kind of sick and numb at the same time and like he hadn't moved in so long he'd forgotten he had legs. 

 

This was why he'd decided to do something, dammit, do something about the _more_. Because he knew he wasn't fucking coping. Because he could feel how much this was going to bloody hurt when he fucked it up, christ, _why did he have to get himself into these things?_ He rubbed the side of his thumb, absently, against his sternum, feeling hollow.  

 

He should make some fucking effort at grown-up fucking self care. Get up, eat something (when had he last? Seriously). Throw the bloody bottles out at home, have a shower and take a long sleep. It wasn't like anyone else was going to make him. He had too pull his own worthless ass up! 

 

He put his head down on the desk instead, pillowed on his laptop, curled his arm around his head to block out the light. Oh how his head ached... He didn't quite know how long he'd been sitting there like that when a hand slid onto his shoulder. He turned his head sideways, wincing as something in his neck went crack.

 

‘Jamie? What tha fuck are you still doing here, it’s….fucking 11.30?’

 

‘Ug’ Jamie's voice croaked, ‘Malc?’

 

‘Sit up, get up, you’re gonna fuck your back sitting like that, you miniature prick’

 

Jamie did sit up, feeling defensive. ‘I’ve been working, you angry walking skeleton, don't come round throwing fucking _aspersions_ , you needle dick streak of-’

 

‘Jesus, calm down! I fuckin’ know you've been working’. He tapped his blackberry, held against his chest in his folded arms. ‘Very fuckin’ useful, but you want me to bend over and thank you for actually doing your job, you'll be waiting a great long time, yeah?’

 

Jamie had half formed a furiously insulting comeback when all the anger abruptly drained out of him. He felt even sicker that the vaguely nauseous he'd been all week. He blinked. He was distantly aware that he wanted a drink.  

 

When he looked up Malcolm was giving him an oddly assessing look. ‘Right, come on’ he said abruptly, leaning over to get his coat from the stand. ‘I'm taking you home, I've rung for a car. Get the fuck up you angry, angry gerbil of a man’.

 

Jamie stood. ‘Look… I don't need no damn favours, I can get myself-’. 

 

‘Was I asking? Do as you're fuckin’ told for once’. Malcolm strode from the room with the full expectation of being followed. Jamie scrambled to keep up. Well, at least he'd get home sooner, he though, mental picturing the bottle of scotch he'd left on the counter.

 

He fidgeted in the car, distracted, eventually taking out his phone to keep occupied when his squirming had Malcolm glaring over the top of his own blackberry. He didn't even realise until the car stopped that they were pulling up to Malcolm's house. 

 

‘Come on’.

 

Jamie, who was starting to feel a bit fuzzy round the edges from hunger and tiredness, trotted after Malcolm, admitting to himself that he didn't know what the fuck was going on and that he just wanted this week, with its confusing pile of stress, to just be over. 

 

He continued following terse directions to take off his coat, sit at the table, drink the juice put in front of him, (which was a bit baffling as he'd thought he was going home, then assumed he was in for more of a bollicking). Malcolm kept shooting him suspicious looks like he was a bomb that might go off at any point, and banged angrily around his kitchen heating up leftovers and getting out dishes. 

 

They ate in science, which was weird, but Jamie was hungry and his upbringing hadn't exactly ingrained him with a desire to turn down free food. 

 

Eventually Malcolm put down his fork and blew air out of his nose, looking stressed, and Jamie felt sorry suddenly, for putting that look there. He knew work had gone well for Malc today, so unless there was some crisis he didn't know about (and they wouldn't be sitting here fucking _eating,_ would they, if there was) then _he_ was the crisis. 

 

‘Jamie, what the fuck is going on?’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one took awhile, I was away to a festival, which wasn't exactly conducive to internet access...


	4. Chapter 4

‘Jamie, what the fuck is going on?’ 

 

Malcolm levelled a look at him.

 

Jamie had one wild though of panic, where he pictured running for the door, rather than actually talking about this. But Malcolm was breaking his own rule about not talking ‘like a fucking jessie’, so Jamie figured if any time was it, it was now.

 

He took a deep breath, ’I've been behaving like a right prick, is whats going on’. 

 

‘Tell me something I don't know’

 

‘Will you shut up? I'm trying to apologise alright? Okay…..so, I'm sorry yeah? I've not been handling this well. I may actually have been panicking a bit….. And now I've gone and fucked everything up’. He could hear his voice flattening out, his throat was so dry it clicked when he swallowed. 

 

Malcolm pinched the bridge of his nose, his shoulders were defensively hunched in on himself. ‘If you wanted to stop, could you not just have said? Could you not just have - I don't know, left me a fucking note or something? ‘Cos this cold shoulder thing has fucking sucked’.

 

‘Wha - I don't wan….’

 

‘Look, I don't know what the fuck you’ve seen in me…been doing with me all this time but _ahhg!_...I  thought we at least had enough respect, enough fuckin’ history for you ta break up with me in person, you at least owe me that much!’

 

‘I don’t want to break up!’ Jamie practically shrieked. ‘What?! I didn’t even know we were - how are we together?’

 

Malcolm spluttered back at him - ‘No!’ Jamie held up a hand, ‘I don't mean I don't want to be together! Thats what I was fucking trying to work up to say, all this time. I thought we were just, I don't know, doing a friends with benefits thing, and I wanted _more._ I wanted, I want _you_ Malc. Fucking christ do you have any idea what you do to me? I want you so fucking much, all the time. I have wet dreams about you! And not just for, f-for sex and stuff. I like just being with you, making you laugh, scaring the English cunts. I've been _trying_ to tell you I wanted more. I want like, a proper relationship and stuff! And now you’re telling me you though we were in one all this time…?’

 

Malcolm was looking a bit stunned, his jaw had gone slack and was hanging open rather gormlessly. Jamie generously decided not to mention it. 

 

‘How was any of this you ‘trying’ to tell me?’ Malcolm asked weakly.

 

‘Well, yeah….not well I’ll grant you. Its hard!’

 

‘You’re telling me’. Malcolm cleared his throat, ‘so not trying to get rid of me?’

 

‘Fuck no! Not, er….not ending it with that ‘I can't do this anymore’ speech?’

 

‘No, God no. _Jamie_.’ Malcolm didn't seen to have any more to follow that up with. 

 

Something was niggling Jamie though - ‘Did you really think this constituted a relationship all this time?’

 

Malcolm shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, I just thought…we were taking it slow. I'm no fucking good at this! In case you hadn't noticed, I don't have any friends that aren’t you, not that can't offer me some advantage in return. I've fucked up every relationship I've ever had!…Ugh not that I've ever bothered with one as much as this before’.

 

He was talking to his hands now, worrying the skin around his thumb with a fingernail. Jamie couldn't take his eyes off him.

 

‘We’re both new to the whole’, he waived a hand expressively, encompassing Jamie in his entirety, ‘cock thing. I just thought…I don't know, I just didn't want to push and fuck it up. Kind of my whole bloody day revolves around you Jamie’. He looked up, ‘you’re kind of all I want. Well’, he smirked, ‘that and unquestioning political obedience’. 

 

Jamie regarded him. ‘We really are shit at this’.

 

‘We quite possibly are’.

 

‘God Malc, I really want to kiss you’.

 

‘I’ve been trying to kiss you for months!’

 

‘Shut up! I know, alright, just…-’

 

Jamie lent forwards, right at the edge of his chair, sitting cornerwise to Malcolm. He slid a hand onto Malcolm's neck, taking in his rapid pulse, the slightly nervous set of his jaw, his too pale stubby skin. He was gorgeous.

 

He pressed a kiss to the older mans forehead, one corner of his mouth, then the other, resting his head against Malcolm's temple for a second, his thumb sweeping the hinge of Malcolm's jaw. He could feel Malcolm's breath on his face.

 

‘Jamie, darlin’’, Malcolm put his hand into the hair at the back of Jamie's head, angled him and brought their mouths together.

 

Kissing properly for the first time, Jamie thought it was really worth the wait, though he wished they hadn't waited. They fit together so well. Malcolm’s lips felt fantastic, his other hand was in the small of Jamie's back and he was all but quivering under Malcolm's touch.

 

Malcolm groaned slightly and licked against Jamie's bottom lip. Jamie enthusiastically let his tongue invade his mouth, following it back into Malcolm’s own to lick at his teeth.

 

The kiss grew more heated, Malcolm had practically pulled Jamie into his lap. They broke apart breathlessly, looking at each other. Malcolm's hands were shaking.   

 

Malcolm suddenly laughed, he looked fantastically flushed and rumpled. ‘We really doing this then?’

 

‘Yeah. Yes. _Please_.’ Jamie grinned.

 

‘Do you want to, um, tell people?’ Did, did Malc sound _hopeful_?

 

‘I don’t care. Well _yes!_ But not if it’s going to, like, cause problems.’ Malcolm was shaking his head, Jamie trusted him to work it out for them. ‘I just want you - I want to see you naked’, Jamie blurted.

 

Malcolm snorted. ‘Subtle MacDonald, but also fuck yeah. Bed?’ He reached for Jamie's hand, twining their fingers together.

 

‘Bed’, Jamie nodded, ‘you are fucking mine now Tucker’.

 

Malcolm looked serious for a moment, ‘yeah, I recon I am’. 

 

He got up, ‘come on though, all the rest will be easier to sort out once I've given you a couple of mind bending orgasms’.

 

Jamie definitely didn't disagree; he dragged Malcolm towards the the stairs. Malcolm was the genius of this outfit anyway, Jamie thought, they were definitely ready for more. 

 

 

Fin 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who have stuck with this story.


End file.
